


Still Running

by fouroux



Category: U2
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/pseuds/fouroux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of facing his problems, Edge develops the habit to run from them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovers in Japan

**Author's Note:**

> This fic starts in 1983, at the end of the War tour, in Japan. I might've taken some liberties concerning dates and certain facts, so if you spot any discrepancies it's likely I chose these changes on purpose for the sake of the story (like, I know the wives/girlfriends were with them on this Japan trip, but I don't mention their whereabouts in the first chapter, so you can assume whatever you want). I hope you can enjoy it anyways!
> 
> Once again, I thank nu2mb for being so patient with me and beta-reading this fic <3 All remaining mistakes are my own. I just write words to pass the time and hope it brings enjoyment to fellow Bedge enthusiasts on the internet, no harm intended.

Japan, what a curious place, Bono thought, one of many random ideas swimming in the pool of his consciousness as he chased neon lights over a heaving torso. Lips followed blue over a hipbone, yellow along a taut belly dipping then rising up to a red, red chest. Edge's body was a colourful billboard, catching the blinking lights from outside the hotel window as they laid in semi darkness. The nimble hands in his thick hair pressed indecisively against his skull, obviously uncertain whether to direct Bono's head down or not. It made him smile and turn, kissing the soft palms left and right from his temples to encourage him. The smell of Edge's hands was warm and clean against the tip of his nose.

“Aislinn is pregnant.”

The words came tumbling from his mouth hasty and quick, as if Edge had been dying to blurt them out since his return from their honeymoon. Silence followed; a silence made of the far away night-life sounds from the busy streets of Tokyo outside, their soft and quickened breathing, and eventually the creak of the mattress as Bono pushed himself up to stare some more at Edge in the blotted dark.

“Aren't you happy for me? Say something.” The hands Bono had just so reverently kissed cradled his skull again, even tilted his head into one of the neon lights to get a better look of his face. Squinting, his smile awkwardly crooked between Edge's hands, Bono finally woke from the shock and leaned in for a big, celebratory smooch somewhere between Edge's upper lip and his nose. “Of course! Of course I'm happy for you, Edge. This is great news, where's the champagne?”

Hesitantly, Edge smiled. “I'm broke, Bono. I've got no money to waste on champagne.”

“Money spent on champagne is never wasted.” Bono concluded wisely and pushed himself up some more, straddling Edge's naked hips beneath him as he sat up on his knees and reached for the cheap telephone on the nightstand. By a matter of habit, Edge placed his hands on the pair of white thighs next to his own. “Wait. It's two in the morning, you don't--”

“Yes, hello? Room two-oh-five, I'd like to order a bottle of champagne, please.” - “Bono--” - “Yes. Yes, that'd be perfect, darlin',” Bono drawled, giving Edge his trademark leer and a wink, his left hand idly caressing through the hairs on Edge's belly, altering between fingertips and knuckles. It shut Edge up effectively and made him squirm just a little. “Alright. I'll be waiting right here, love. Thank you so much.” Bono hung up.

Annoyed by the hundred bucks Bono had just carelessly thrown out of the window, a hundred bucks neither of them could really afford, and squirming some more at the second set of fingers running lightly up his ribs, Edge hissed softly. “And who's going to pay for that now? You?”

“Don't worry about it, Edge,” Bono purred, teasing Edge further with skidding fingertips and grinding a little over the start of an erection beneath him. “Everyone's going to throw in a buck. We're just celebrating a new addition to the family.”

“But I haven't told the others yet.”

“But you will? Soon?”

Edge nodded, though his brows seemed to be a little unsure about it. “Yeah. Soon, yes.”

It took exactly 12 minutes for room service to bring up an iced bottle of overly priced champagne, and only half of that time for Bono to suck Edge into such a hazy state of arousal, he had to wrestle him off lest room service found them fucking on the carpet. Once the drink arrived, they drank one half of it and spilled the other between them with boyish giggles and brisk champagne kisses. The ice cubes found a new purpose once the alcohol was gone, and by 4am Bono whined and whimpered into the messy sheets as Edge fucked him eagerly. Yet, there was something desperate about the way he held Bono's hips and nuzzled the back of Bono's neck as he came so very quietly; an uneasiness settled in the pit of Bono's belly, right behind his navel, but he had no time to think about it as Edge's hand finished him, and so they laid side by side eventually, listening to each other breathe and watching the colourful neon lights dance on the ceiling.

It was 4:37am when Bono turned to look at Edge's green profile. “Your new hairdo looks so neat... I never told you,” he reached out to touch the trimmed, dark hairs at Edge's temple. “I miss your shaggy mop.”

Edge kept staring at the ceiling, quiet and thoughtful, and when he answered the uneasiness in Bono's belly expanded into a yawning hole.

“Guess I'm growing up, is all.”


	2. Walk Until You Run

Edge didn't share the news for several weeks, thus making the bottle of champagne on Bono's hotel bill look rather selfish to the rest of the band. Paul, especially, wasn't amused and had paid for most of it, giving Bono an earful. Edge made himself scarce during the whole scene and merely shrugged when the others asked him what Bono's mysterious night of indulgence might have been about.  
  
Hawaii came and went, and only once they were back rehearsing in rainy old Ireland did Edge open up about the news, right during another dinner get-together at Bono's and Ali's place. Everyone congratulated the expectant couple, drinks were had, and yet Edge caught the looks on his band mate's face one after the other amidst the excited chatter. Adam seemed particularly forlorn for the rest of the evening, there was something sad about his odd smile as he patted Edge's shoulder, and he excused himself more often than was usual for him to go outside for a smoke. Larry, still young and dependant on the other guys, looked like he had no idea what to do with this undoubtedly life-changing event in Edge's marriage. After all, he was still living with his dad, the thought of kids was a strange and faraway idea for the young man. And then there were Bono's stares throughout the entire evening, watching Edge like he was expecting him to break from the pressure of it all at any moment, and Edge felt like he just might. He was incredibly scared; happy, but also terrified out of his mind, and Bono had seen it take shape in the set of his shoulders for weeks now.  
  
“No one out there is really happy for me.” Edge whispered once they were alone in the kitchen to pick up some beers. Alarmed, Bono grabbed his arm and tugged. “What? Of course they are, what are you on about? The girls can't stop talking about it.”  
  
“I'm talking about the guys.” Tensely, he shoved a couple of bottles from the fridge onto the counter, freeing himself from Bono's grip. “I'm not blind,” he added sadly. “You had that same look on your face when I told you first.”  
  
Bono picked up the cool beers, one bottleneck each in between his fingers. “They _are_ happy for you, Edge. But maybe they just don't know what to expect from you now,” he suggested carefully, voicing concerns he had carried around since Japan. “A child changes things.”  
  
“Yeah?” Closing the door of the fridge, Edge grabbed a few bottles himself and pressed them to his chest with his arms, brows knit irritatedly now. “How would _you_ know? Anyone of you?” And he left suddenly, leaving Bono to stare at his feet.

***

Weeks later, the situation felt just as tense and awkward. No one really knew what to do with the fact that one of them was going to be a father soon, and what changes that might bring. Could they expect Edge to still show up for rehearsals regularly? Could they ask him to come on tour for several months? Would he still want to be in the band, with a family waiting at home? No one dared to ask these questions, but they lingered on everyone's mind, forming a barricade between the young men. And while Edge was still around for the music, equally invested in the upcoming album as the others, he had successfully closed himself off from them about any other private matters.  
  
“You wouldn't understand,” was his soft reply whenever one of them felt brave enough to breach the topic, and that was that.  
  
However, the more Edge distanced himself, the needier he turned in bed. Bono couldn't remember their love-making being so frequent and so frantic since their first couple of clumsy teenage attempts in Edge's garden shed. He was so incredibly tense, the song-writing sessions ended more often than not with Bono's hand inside Edge's jeans, rubbing another panic attack out of him. He had since learned not to worry too much about the recurring mantra wheezing from Edge's lungs: “I can't breathe. Oh god, I can't breathe, I can't breathe...”  
  
And yet, every time felt like it was their last. _This is it, I'll never get to see him like this again_ , Bono lamented whenever he watched Edge get dressed afterwards, all quiet grace and flat planes. By now he had written a thousand songs about him in his head. Songs he would never sing. And while they would return to this place again and again for another while, Bono knew it was inevitable. Until Slane Castle, and then it was really over.  
  
“I can't do this anymore.”  
  
The room was large and sun-filled, the ceiling high, almost endless, just like the bed. Bono tightened his grip on the arm that held him, but it slipped free nonetheless and he closed his eyes dejectedly for a moment. He knew there was no arguing with him about this, and so he didn't. Edge had turned into such a quiet, stoic man.  
  
“I'm sorry,” dry lips kissed a freckled shoulder. “Don't you want to say anything?”  
  
Slowly, Bono shifted against the bare chest behind him and turned halfway. He only had time for one question, but there were so many of them on his mind. “Can I watch you get dressed?”  
  
Perplexed, Edge nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”


	3. And Don't Look Back For Here I Am

How beautiful he was, standing tall and full of fatherly pride, cradling the little bundle in his arms with his sleeves pushed up. Everyone came to look, all instruments and pens and equipment set aside, and he looked so happily at everyone approaching him. He was laughing, even. His eyes having found their long lost bright twinkle again, and Bono's heart clenched at the sight of his handsome smile. Little fingers were counted, the puffy cheeks caressed and the head kissed, and then he and the bundle pushed through the little crowd.  
  
Edge wore a plaid shirt, black and white, some washed out jeans that had seen better days, and black boots. His face clean-shaven, all warm green eyes and sharp cheekbones, he still looked like his body wasn't done growing yet. He was so slender, still just a kid and yet a father. Bono shifted in the corner of the brown leather couch, which they had set up in the middle of their ballroom turned rehearsal room, and smiled faintly as Edge sat down next to him.   
  
“Don't you want to say hello?” Proudly, he offered the bundle to him, and Bono could tell there was still a jittery nervousness about the young dad, but unlike the withdrawn man from weeks before, he looked healthy.   
  
“Hollie, meet Bon Smelly Arse. Bon Smelly Arse, meet Hollie.”  
  
“Shut up, Lar'.” Bono sat up straight to give the snickering drummer behind the couch a check with the elbow. Larry fled, laughing, and picked up a pair of drum sticks laying randomly about, just in case he had to defend himself. Adam's and Daniel's laughter joined right in from across the room and Bono flipped them the bird.  
  
“Right, enough of that, lads,” Edge smiled good-naturedly, covering his daughter's little ears. The baby gurgled happily and thus had all of Bono's attention right away. He turned towards Edge. “Alright, I'm sold. Here, give her to me.”  
  
“Be careful. Hold her head.”  
  
“Yes, okay.”  
  
“You got her?”  
  
“I've got her, I've got her. Let go.”  
  
Really, Bono was good with babies. Good with children, too. And for a moment he wondered how come Edge had beat him to it. Looking at her, she warmed his heart immediately, and he smiled and leaned down to smell the fluffy head. For one irrational moment Bono expected her to smell like him, but her scent was all sweet softness. Not like Edge at all, who had used to wear this incredibly cheap cologne at 17 and had stubbornly continued to wear it, even after receiving much abuse from the other guys. However, when the bottle had neared its end, he hadn't bothered to get a new one, and all he smelled of since was soap and detergent with an underlying layer of Edge. Bono liked that smell very much.   
  
“She's got your nose,” Bono observed, running his pinky along the narrow bridge. And if he wasn't totally mistaken, she had inherited his chin, too. _Not the worst features to get passed on from your father_ , he thought, and remembered his own ears for one pained second.  
  
“She's got a baby nose, as all babies do,” Edge argued with a smile, though the faint colour on his cheeks gave away how proud he was. Adam cut in, smirking with an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth and ruffling through Edge's carefully groomed hair. “As long as she hasn't got your tuft, eh?”  
  
Now the room bellowed with laughter and Edge turned an even darker shade of red, shrugging off Adam's hands behind him trying to soothe him and his tense shoulders. There were mocking sounds of empathy all around, until Hollie made a very specific and very unhappy little noise.  
  
“Uh oh. I know that face.” Now it was Edge who could hardly contain his giggles and watched as horror widened Bono's eyes. He held the now wailing bundle up and away from him, face contrite. “Oh wow, did she just--” - “Oh yes, she did.” Laughing, Edge took the baby from him. “I'll have to go clean her up. Can someone give me the diaper bag?” He got up.  
  
“It's over here.”  
  
“Right. I need a free surface somewhere. That table over there. Larry?”  
  
“On it.”  
  
“I want to watch.”  
  
“Are you sure, Ad'? It's going to be messy.”  
  
“Yeah, I don't mind the smell. What do you need?”  
  
“A fresh towel and the wipes first. Front pocket...”  
  
They all walked away, swarming around Edge and the baby, and Bono sat and watched the scene for an agonizingly long minute. Feeling so utterly bereft and lost as he observed the father at work, smiling and cooing at the child. A moment later, the couch was empty.

 

***

Outside, sitting on the narrow stone steps warmed up from the sun, Bono took in the endlessness of the castle grounds and felt his ribcage relax at the sight of the open scenery. He hadn't realized how tight his chest had become until it had been too much to bear. Here, watching the trees and feeling the wind run over his face and arms, he felt instantly better. Strangely, he craved one of Adam's cigarettes and was disappointed when he realized he had run out of the ballroom too fast to snatch one from the table. He wasn't going to go back in there.  
  
“Knocks you off your feet, doesn't it? A full diaper, I mean.”  
  
A heavy door creaked, shoes scraped over stone, and Edge sat down next to him with that smile again, squinting a little against the sun. Bono's innards coiled and twisted as he looked at him.  
  
“Needs some getting used to, I know. It's not my favourite smell in the morning either.”  
  
“Where did you leave her?”  
  
“Ad's got her,” Edge's smile broadened and shaped adorable dimples into his cheeks. “He's quite the natural with babies. Absolutely smitten by little Hollie.”  
  
“Who wouldn't be.”  
  
“You left.” There was nothing accusatory in his gentle voice. It actually sounded somewhat like a question, a question Bono didn't have the appropriate answer to, not without sounding like the miserable sod he was. So that was what he chose to say, because he had never been good at that whole internalisation thing, not like him.  
  
“No, Edge, _you_ left.”  
  
Bono's hands clenched, and he looked sideways just in time to catch Edge's face falter. In all his newly found purpose and responsibilities, he couldn't possibly have had the time to consider Bono's feelings, now could he? Bono knew that was a mean thought to have, but it crossed his mind and flickered in the form of deep hurt behind his blue eyes before he could stop himself. It were only mere weeks since Edge had called it quits and it hurt like a bullet wound with the slug still stuck firmly in his flesh.  
  
“You know why--”  
  
“No, actually, I don't,” he snapped right through Edge's words, but the satisfaction it brought him vanished the same second he felt it well up, but he had to say this, had to know. “I really don't. So, let's have it, Edge. Why?”  
  
“We've got to consider our new responsibilities, our wives--”  
  
Bono huffed and looked away, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right. Didn't bother you much when I got married, did it? Wives and responsibilities.”  
  
“It does _now_ ,” Edge's voice was low and calm, but his grip on Bono's wrist was surprisingly tight and growing tighter still as he spoke quietly. “I'm a husband and I'm a dad, and I can't keep shagging my best friend Peter Pan while I'm being all these things, don't you get that?”  
  
Bono stared at him, face still and lips parted; he hadn't felt this cold since the skinny-dipping event in Dublin Bay with the guys from Lypton Village that late October night. “Edge--” - “No. Listen to me, Bono, it's time to grow up, okay? I'm done fooling around, and you should do the same.”  
  
Edge stood briskly and dusted off his jeans while Bono kept staring at the vacant spot beside him, wondering when this gentle boy had turned into such a cruel man. His chest tightened again, so much so he feared all his ribs, one by one, would crack under the pressure any second now. His mind was utterly blank, except for one simple, plain truth:  
  
“But I miss you, Reg.”  
  
There was a long pause behind him, then the door fell shut.


	4. Crossed Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is embarrassingly short, even for my standards.

Five years, a couple of tours and records and a whole lot in between later, Bono stared once again at the spot formerly occupied by his best friend. There was no grand castle this time, no blazing sun and vast meadows, but stuffy studio walls and bluesy rock next door instead of big ambient echoes under high ceilings. A door fell shut somewhere down the hall and boots fled, blustering down wooden steps and out, out, out.  
  
 _Still running, aren't you, The Edge?_  
  
Bono tried to smile past the lump in his throat, but it was hard. As much as he valued companionship, brotherhood and friendship, he missed Edge on such a deeper level there were days he struggled to get up at all without him. Again and again he found himself abandoned by his best friend turned lover turned distant relative. Well, to call Edge a distant relative wasn't at all fair nor true, but sometimes that was what it felt like anyway, because being dramatic about things laid in Bono's very nature and to be abandoned was his biggest fear. And Edge _had_ abandoned him, in some fundamental way, while Bono kept on searching and waiting for him to return, no matter how unlikely the chance.  
  
He missed him. He missed him so much, the hole behind his navel that had grown since that night way back in Japan was now a familiar, aching emptiness he woke up with every morning. Sometimes Bono forgot about it; when Edge smiled a certain way at him, when their eyes connected from across the room during that very second a new song started to sound just right, when they hugged each other goodbye, when he could shamelessly drape himself around Edge on stage, all sweaty and heavy against the rocking spine. Soon enough, the ache would return and remind him how miserable he felt, how much he missed the talks way past midnight, the familiarity with which they could sit so close to one another when they were alone, or not alone. And Bono missed the sex; missed the weight of him on his back, how he smelled before, during and after, the way he sounded so terrifyingly lost when his whole body quaked with release.  
  
Bono turned away from the wall. His firstborn was fussing in her little cradle by the couch, hardly two weeks old, and while he understood so many more things now that she had come into his world, he still didn't understand the enigma that was his friend. Jordan's birth hadn't changed the way he felt about Edge at all. Secretly, he had hoped it would.  
  
The taste of coffee, cream and a cold cigarette was faint on his lips, but it was all that was left of Edge in this room. He probably shouldn't have kissed him.


	5. An Accident Waiting To Happen

“Edge, open up! Open the _fucking_ door!”  
  
The cottage door rattled in its frame as Bono banged his fist against the wood. It was cold out, wind bit through his black coat as he knocked, knocked and knocked. “Edge!” He looked back shortly, saw Adam smoking in the distance, standing outside his own place wearing only a bathrobe and likely nothing else beneath in the autumn chill. The fucking nerve.  
  
“Edge, God will be my fucking witness, I'll kick this door in--”  
  
“Hold your effin' horses...” The voice behind the door sounded muffled, slightly slurred. The click of the lock followed and Bono pushed himself inside before Edge even had the chance to open the door far enough to let him in.  
  
“Took you long enough,” Bono growled and shot a glance somewhere past Edge's shoulder, trying to stall the inevitable moment he would have to take in the state of him, and looked around. The cottage stank of takeaway food, smoke and loneliness, and while Bono was used to even more chaos from his own little studio at home, he was shocked to see the unexpected mess he found himself in. There were countless notes, pens, tape recorders, cassettes and clothes laying about everywhere. Even guitars, an old amplifier or two, along with various CDs and vinyls littered the floor. Edge had successfully buried himself in work and Bono didn't know whether to be glad or alarmed that he couldn't spot any of the alcohol he smelled in the room.  
  
“Right. Pack your things,” he said eventually and grabbed a hoodie from the couch, a tshirt off the floor. The fact that he couldn't even tell whether they were actually clean or not was unsettling. Edge had always been so tidy about his things. “Get a bag, come on.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said, pack your things. You're coming with me.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes, you're coming with me,” sternly, he freed another shirt from beneath an acoustic guitar. “Enough of this. Ali's prepared the guest room, we'll wash your stuff, Jo Jo will be good for you, and you can do all that you do here at my place. Well, apart from the bloody drinking. There'll be no whisky for breakfast at _my_ table, I can tell you that, Edge--”  
  
“Stop it!” Edge's frame bumped painfully into his side; the bastard was all bones and sharp edges these days, yet he had finally grown into his back and shoulders – and he snatched one of his shirts out of Bono's hands without much effort at all. “I don't need anyone to babysit me, I'm fine on my own,” he snapped.  
  
“ _Are_ you?” Bono questioned and stared at the gaunt figure beside him. He had missed the worst of it, when Edge had moved out and came to live at Adam's so he wouldn't be so terribly alone, he hadn't seen how miserable Edge had felt then. He'd only heard about it. The insomnia, the drinking and smoking, the numbness with which he had haunted Adam's house like a restless ghost. He hadn't seen any of that, for everyone had advised him to stay away, because at his very core Bono was a healer and to see someone he loved hurt, well, he couldn't just let it be. But there was no healing a broken heart, it mended itself over time, Adam had told him that much. He was the expert after all. “Frankly, Edge, you look like shit.”  
  
“Piss off, Bono,” he muttered and turned to self-consciously sort through the clutter on his couch. That he looked so thin wasn't even the worst of it, but the utter sadness and loneliness in Edge's eyes was devastating.  
  
“Listen to me,” Bono reached out for Edge's arm that clutched a bunch of crumpled notes. “I didn't come all this way out here so you could send me away again. Come on, Edge, Ali's making lasagna for you, don't make me leave without you--”  
  
“No one asked you to come.” Edge snapped again, sharp and cruel, it was so unlike him. But it was exactly that which made Bono's grip turn into a vice around Edge's elbow, and he thundered back: “ _Everyone's_ asked me to come!”  
  
Sudden silence settled heavily upon the little cottage. Edge stared in disbelief, he had been buried too deep inside himself, his music and sadness; understandably, he had no idea what was happening around him. Bono's grip tightened even further, at this point it was likely he was cutting off all circulation from Edge's forearm, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't let him run again. Not this time.  
  
“ _Everyone_ , Edge,” he repeated insistently. “Because when they realized Adam's laissez-faire bullshit wasn't working and that you just kept on running away from everything, they said hey, let's send good old Bono after him, right? Because Edge hasn't been running from _him_ for years! Let's see how that'll work out!”  
  
“This is not about you.” Edge replied rather weakly, attempting to get his arm free, but Bono didn't let him go, only stepped closer, crowded him. “No, it's not. It's about you, Edge. Running away from everything that frightens you. First, you ran away with the circus, because a mundane working class life in Dublin wasn't for you--” - “I didn't run--” - “Yes, you did! But we all did at the time, so no one noticed. And you ran again when you were too young to have a child, only problem was you couldn't run from your wife, so you ran from _me_!” - “ _Stop_ \--” - “And now you run again, don't you, Edge? Can't face that you couldn't make it work, that you fucked up. Marriage in shambles and you flee. That's what you do, you just keep on running, you bloody coward!”  
  
Notes fluttered everywhere, created even more chaos as they landed on the floor and coffee table, covering bits of clothing and vinyl covers. The old acoustic guitar laying on the couch thrummed into an odd song, then cracked painfully as the weight of two grown men came crashing down on it. They wrestled, struggled and fought, panted harshly as Bono let go of all his frustration and years of waiting. Edge, on the other hand, seemed to be holding on for dear life as he pushed and scratched the force of nature above him. They each landed their fair share of hits, jaws hurting and cheek bones stinging, and they cursed and fell off the couch with another crash.  
  
Bono's fist trembled with force and anger high behind his ear, ready to break Edge's nose in his blind rage, pumped up with adrenaline, but the sight of Edge laying battered on the floor drained him on the spot. Edge was crying. Eyes closed tight and body shaking, and Bono realized the hands that had pushed and clawed at him before were now clutching him deep beneath his black coat.  
  
“Edge?”  
  
Bono had never seen him cry before. As generous as he was with his smiles and laughter, he was so very private about his anger and even more so when it came to his tears. But they were there, streaking down Edge's pale, painfully contorted face without a sound, jaw tightly set.  
  
“Don't cry. Please, please don't cry,” Bono muttered hurriedly, the tension seeping from his body all at once. Hands turning tender, he held Edge's reddened jaw in his palms, thumbs stroking at hot tears and bloody lips kissing Edge's cheeks, nose and eyes. “Please, Edge... please, please stop.”  
  
But the shaking only worsened, and Edge let go and wailed eventually. Buried beneath Bono's coat and the safety of his body, he cried and cried. Bono held him and closed his eyes, fighting off his own tears as the desperate sobs against his shoulder broke his heart. They didn't cease for a long, long while and Bono endured it, until he found himself staring at the cottage ceiling with his exhausted friend sleeping in his arms on the floor, and the hole behind his navel feeling a tiny bit less empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, this fic ends here. Secretly, I'm a fan of semi unresolved endings, where you have to make up your own mind about how it all continued, but I did write a short fluffy sequel after all, so that's still to come.


	6. A House In The Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to address so many more things, but ended up with this tiny, fluffy sequel (with a little smut on the side), because somehow the topics I wanted to mention had no place in this story after all, I felt. Anyway. Thank you so much for taking the time and reading this, it really means a lot!

It was lovely at this time of year in Èze. The summers were never too hot, but just warm enough to doze off by the pool with only mild sunburns as a result and to have lazy parties in shirts and sandals that lasted well into the morning. It was the year of their never-ending weekend after Zoo TV, their private turmoil and huge success. Bono had laid off the shades and horns, Larry and Adam had gone off on their own adventure, and Edge had agreed to buy and renovate a place in France with the one guy no one wanted to go on vacation with. Not for a year, anyway. But then again, Edge needed a task to put his mind to and France posed a welcome distraction and place to recover, as the house was not yet in any state for the families to follow.  
  
Healing, he had found out, worked best in Bono's company after all, and running away for a bit with his best friend was ultimately more fun than running on his own. They spent weeks upon weeks listening to all sorts of music, as fans more so than musicians, joining spontaneous parties with lots of fancy wine, scavenging for antique furniture or other odd bits on jumble sales near the harbour, renovating one corner of the place, then leaving the paint be to waste time by the pool instead; or in bed, languidly kissing away the hurt they had caused one another over the years.  
  
On this particular day, they shared breakfast in the tiniest of cafés in the quaintest of cobblestone alleys. Decadently, Bono ordered a pie made entirely of chocolate mousse and ate it making obscene little noises of pleasure while Edge went for the eggs benedict and a cup of coffee that was almost more milk than anything else, smiling at Bono's antics. Later, they wandered into a hidden bookstore and bought a lovely old copy of William Blake poetry for Bono while Edge happily carried along his find from a record shop down the street, and went back home during the afternoon to undress and couple on the only bed in the house as of yet.  
  
“Manners, Edge. My eyes are up here.”  
  
Edge's brow was furrowed in deep concentration and fascination at the erotic sight of Bono's naked hips dragging over his own, watching their erections poke and press and slide between their sweaty stomachs, ilia dipping into one another like perfect puzzle pieces. Bono's arms trembled with effort holding on to the headboard above, then tensed as he pulled himself up into another agonizingly slow full-body grind, making Edge below him stutter a breathless groan and the wooden bed frame creak.   
  
“Up here, I said,” Bono whispered, voice raw, and let go with his left hand to cup Edge's warm throat, smirking at him when lazy blue eyes met glazed green ones and kissing him, slow and deep, chasing a tongue that usually demanded all the control into submission. Another tight roll of the hips, and Edge came with a shaky _Fuck_ inside Bono's mouth, his own slacking and whimpering helplessly as his belly flexed with sweet shocks of release.  
  
Bono hummed and patiently waited for Edge's orgasm to fade, then nuzzled his neck and got high on the smell of him as Edge finished him off with a sweaty palm and a handful of precise tugs and squeezes. He shuddered, hips pushing and pushing as he came, skin slick and slippery, and it felt just absolutely right.  
  
It took them a couple of minutes to calm down, hearts pounding and bodies buzzing full with endorphins. Eventually, Edge patted the damp body laying atop of him before Bono could seize the opportunity to take a nap right where he was. “Don't even think about it, B, you're heavy. Shower, come on.”  
  
“So rude, Edge,” Bono whined in response, nuzzling Edge's neck some more and feeling too comfortable to get up despite the sticky mess between them. He didn't cooperate at all as Edge, chuckling, pushed him off bit by bit. Eventually, he landed on his back with a grunt, arms tingling from holding up his own weight for so long, and groggily opened his eyes in time to watch Edge's narrow white arse leave the bedroom.   
  
Bono followed him immediately.


End file.
